


souls tend to go back to who feels like home

by reindeerjumper



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Chaptered, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Harry Hart Lives, M/M, Pre-Golden Circle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-07 13:14:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11059737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeerjumper/pseuds/reindeerjumper
Summary: Harry smiled at this, causing warmth to bloom in Merlin’s chest that he was hesitant to acknowledge. It still amazed him how even after twenty years he was shy to let Harry know just how much happiness he brought into his life. There was something intimidating about the way Harry allowed himself to be an open book. His face was blunt honesty when he was with Merlin--all it took was the slightest change in his eyes or a barely discernable upturn of his lips to let Merlin know what he was thinking.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from NR Hart. Not a soulmate AU, but rather a little look at what it's like to go through life knowing you're with the person you're meant to be, and picking up the pieces when they're gone.

“What are you going to do if your boy doesn’t make it?”  

Merlin was sitting on the couch in the living room, a basket of laundry in front of him that he was meticulously folding. Harry leaned on the doorframe, his long arms crossed in front of his chest and his equally long legs crossed at the ankle.  

“What makes you say he won’t?” Harry replied. Merlin noted how soft he looked in his cardigan and trousers in contrast to the sharp grey suit he had worn earlier that day. _A lethal killing machine in a cardigan,_ he thought to himself, forcing the smile that was bubbling to the surface to disappear.  

“It’s just a possibility,” he said as he rolled a pair of socks. “You know the test that’s coming up next. Not everyone can compartmentalize their emotions, and we know he has a soft spot for animals. He wouldn’t’ve gotten nicked for stealing that car if it weren’t for that fox.” 

At this, Harry shifted his weight against the doorframe, his eyes dropping to the floor. He let out a sound of recognition, letting Merlin know that he had heard him but choosing not to answer him. With a huff, he heaved himself into an upright position and crossed the space between himself and Merlin. “Move,” he said, knocking Merlin’s knee with his own. Merlin pressed the half-folded shirt to his chest as he scooted down the couch, making room for his partner next to him.  

Harry dug his hand into the basket, fishing out a pair of boxers that he primly folded in half before setting it on the table next to the basket. Merlin smirked at this. Harry Hart never folded laundry. It was a task almost always designated to Merlin while Harry prowled around the room and tortured him. Sometimes it was rubber bands being shot at him from different angles in the room, Harry’s half assed way of practicing his trajectory projection. On quieter days, Harry just sat in the adjacent armchair and read a book. Other times, Harry would knock over the stacks of folded clothes when Merlin wasn’t looking as if he were some large, obnoxious housecat with an insatiable need for attention.  

When this happened, Merlin always somehow found himself naked in their bedroom after begrudgingly giving up the chore to tend to Harry’s needs.

Today, though, was different. It seemed that Harry had conceded to  _ help _ . He dug his hand once more into the basket, trying to find a match to the black sock that was hanging limply from his hand.

“To what do I owe this honor?” Merlin asked, placing a crisply folded undershirt on Harry’s stack of clothes. 

“Whatever do you mean,” Harry replied, still searching for the match to the sock in his hand.

“You never help fold clothes. You usually drive me insane by shooting things at my head or prodding me until I can’t take it anymore.”

“I can’t help that your head makes for a perfectly good target. I also can’t help that your stoic demeanor is easily disassembled. You really should work on that.”

Merlin gave him a sideways glance, the line of his jaw flexing as he bit back a response. He could see Harry glancing down towards the basket, his thinly veiled agitation evident on his features. He chose to ignore him, knowing it would get under Harry’s skin and bring forth whatever it was that he wasn’t saying. A few minutes passed, Harry valiantly searching for the matching sock and Merlin silently folding shirts and pajama pants. 

Finally, Harry gave a sigh. In his peripheral vision, Merlin could see his shoulders visibly slump as he dropped his hands defeatedly into his lap. 

“Black socks are always the worst to pair up,” Merlin said. He turned his head to look at Harry, who was now shooting daggers at him. “You’d know that if you helped me more.” 

“Bugger off,” he muttered, throwing the sock back into the basket. There was a beat before he continued. “You know something that you’re not telling me.”

Sighing, Merlin dropped Harry’s monogrammed pajama shirt that he held in his hand down to his lap. He looked over at Harry, cursing and admiring Harry’s innate ability to see right through him. Harry searched his face with all of the openness that Merlin had craved before the beginning of their relationship. It had been hard, harboring a crush on the person you’re most intimately involved with professionally, constantly being in his ear and guiding his every move to make sure that he comes home safely and alive. Merlin couldn’t count how many times he’d sign off with Harry after a near death mission and cradled his head in his hands, taking deep, calming breaths before scrubbing a hand over his face and getting on with his day. 

Harry had never known. At least, not until Merlin forgot to cut the comms between himself and Harry and had muttered, “You can’t be in love with a reckless, idiotic fool. Stop being ridiculous.” 

Harry’s voice had crackled back over the comms, a brightness in his voice that Merlin rarely heard. “So you _do_ love me.”   

That had been almost twenty years ago. Funny, how quickly time flies when you’re living each day like it’s the last time you’ll hear someone’s voice, or feel their hand in yours, or appreciate the tickle of their breath on your cheek as they slumber on your chest. Merlin appreciated each second he spent drowning in the amber depth of Harry’s eyes, even if it meant enduring Harry’s moodiness and incessant need for attention. His heart and humor made up for it. 

Merlin looked at his partner, not bothering to rearrange his features into something more neutral. He took a slow breath in through his nose before leaning back against the couch. “I don’t know anything,” he started slowly. “At least, I don’t think I do. I just have a notion that Arthur is out to sabotage your candidate.” 

“What makes you say that?” Harry had his arm propped up on the arm of the couch, cradling his head in his hand. He looked tired. 

“Well, you know that I usually administer the test to the final two candidates. Arthur’s insisting that he administer Eggsy’s. I argued with him for the better part of an hour before I left headquarters, but he wouldn’t budge.” Merlin busied himself with running a hand over the “HH” embroidered on Harry’s shirt that sat in his lap. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Harry, unsure how he would take the news. Even though he’d put up a valiant fight, part of Merlin still felt like he had let Harry down in some way.

“Merlin,” Harry said softly. He covered Merlin’s fidgeting hand with his own, and Merlin finally exhaled the breath that he didn’t realize he was holding. There was a certain comfort in the warm weight of Harry’s hand on his. He turned his hand over to lace his own fingers through Harry’s, running his thumb along the soft underside of Harry’s hand. It was the only part that wasn’t calloused or scarred. “He’s come this far. There’s nothing you or I can do at this point besides pray and drink.”

“I know, I know. I just know how much this means to you...what with Lee and that whole debacle. Even though you can be an ice queen, I have twenty years of evidence that shows you actually do have a heart somewhere underneath all of that hair pomade and cologne.” 

Harry smiled at this, causing warmth to bloom in Merlin’s chest that he was hesitant to acknowledge. It still amazed him how even after twenty years he was shy to let Harry know just how much happiness he brought into his life. There was something intimidating about the way Harry allowed himself to be an open book. His face was blunt honesty when he was with Merlin--all it took was the slightest change in his eyes or a barely discernable upturn of his lips to let Merlin know what he was thinking. 

Merlin thought back on the first time he had seen Harry cry. It had taken him aback so forcefully that he actually had panicked. He had come home from headquarters, happy to be out of the dark tech cave and walking through the door of his and Harry’s house. They had only been together for about two years, Merlin having just moved in about a month prior. He was still getting used to all of Harry’s little quirks--the teacup he insisted on using in the morning, the way he organized all of his blasted products on the bathroom countertop, the fact that Merlin  _ had _ to pick up a copy of  _ The Sun  _ for Harry before he came home from a mission--and the scene that he had walked into topped them all.

Harry had been sitting in a wingback chair in the dimly lit living room. Mr. Pickles was sitting on his lap, and Harry’s hand was buried in Mr. Pickles’ fur. Merlin had quickly assessed the situation at hand, scanning over the room and taking in the details that sat in front of him. Harry hadn’t completely discarded the suit he wore out of the house that morning--the gray wool trousers were still on, but the jacket was slung across the couch with much less finesse than Harry usually used. He was also wearing a black vest that was unbuttoned down the front, and the sleeves of his crisp white shirt were wrinkled and rolled up. Harry hadn’t even bothered to cuff them neatly...they were a disheveled mess, his cufflinks a distant memory. An orange tie hung around his neck, still in its impeccable knot but loosened slightly from the collar. 

Even at a distance from across the room, Merlin could see the tears glimmering on Harry’s eyelashes. It was the last thing Merlin would have ever expected. It was too many emotions at once, and Merlin didn’t do emotions. Any words of comfort that seemed appropriate caught in his throat and choked the breath out of him, and his palms immediately began to sweat. Harry had been so caught up in his own reverie that he hadn’t heard Merlin come in. For seconds that felt like years, Merlin watched Harry as he silently let the tears fall from his eyes.  

It wasn’t until he heard Harry mutter, “How does she do it, old boy?” to Mr. Pickles that Merlin realized a Carole King record was playing in the background.  

“For fuck’s sake, Harry,” Merlin had huffed as he took off his glasses. “I thought something was wrong.”  

Harry’s head had snapped up at Merlin’s words, the barest hint of panic on his face. It settled quickly, though, when he realized that it had only been Merlin. “Don’t judge me,” he had said heavily. “Tapestry is an absolute masterpiece and Carole King is a wordsmith.” 

They still had that record player, despite Merlin’s constant reminders that technology had advanced light years beyond what the record player was capable of. Every time he damned its presence, Harry lightly reminded him, “Carole King sounds best on vinyl, and I will personally cut your hand off if you try to get rid of that record player.”

That unabashed emotion was now written all over Harry’s face. It said to Merlin,  _ Tell me everything is going to be alright.  _ Merlin gave him a small smile before saying, “Everything is going to be fine, Harry. I’m sure Eggsy will pass with flying colors. He’s been top marks this entire time...he won’t muck it up at this point.”

Harry sighed before folding himself into Merlin’s chest. Instinctively, Merlin brought his arm up to enclose Harry in it, pulling the full grown man into his chest as if he were comforting a child. Harry slid one of his long, muscular arms across Merlin’s torso and sighed. Without thinking, Merlin buried his nose into Harry’s hair. It was all softness and curls against his face, smelling like Harry’s ostentatiously expensive shampoo from the shower he had taken when he got home from HQ. Merlin pressed a kiss there, letting his lips linger against the top of Harry’s head. 

“I trust that you’ll tell me the second the test is over?” Harry said softly. 

Merlin hummed in response. “Of course I will, Harry. He’ll be fine.”

“Mm, yes, I suppose he will. I just would hate to see another life get ruined because of my meddling. He’s so invested in this entire endeavor, and who can blame him? It’s glamorous and exciting and everything his life was lacking before. I’d just hate to see it all ripped away from him because his heart is too big to shoot a fucking dog.”

“He’s a smart boy, Harry. He won’t throw everything away.”

There was a moment before Harry said, “I hope you’re right, my dear.”

Merlin couldn’t help the smile on his face at the endearment. He pressed his lips once more to the crown of Harry’s head before saying, “Help fold the rest of these clothes, you lazy sod.”

“Only in your wildest dreams.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Harry, don’t do anything rash.”

Harry could hear Merlin’s voice in his ear, a steady constant that usually quelled his fears and calmed his nerves. This time, however, Merlin’s velveteen brogue could do nothing to rid Harry of the anger and embarrassment that were bubbling up in his chest. 

“I’m not a child, Merlin.”

He could hear Merlin sigh on the other end of the comms before saying, “I never said you were. I just know you’re...upset. He’s upset, too. Rightfully so. Doesn’t exactly justify him stealing one of our vehicles, but that’s besides the point.” 

“If anyone is acting like a child, Merlin, it’s him. Not only did he steal a vehicle, he _pointed a gun at his potential employer.”_  

Silence. Harry knew he had Merlin dead to rights, and apparently Merlin knew it, too. Harry took the opportunity to continue. “If anyone thinks that Arthur is the biggest knob this side of the Thames, it’s me, but at least I have a sense of decorum.” He spat the last word out like venom.  

Harry was now pacing in his study, his hands shoved into his pockets as he glowered at the decanter of whiskey he had set out on his desk in the hopes of a celebratory drink.  _ Put the fucking cart before the horse,  _ he thought hotly. He didn’t want to be angry--if anything, it was a testament to Eggsy’s character, not being able to shoot the dog. Harry had always known that Eggsy had a pure heart...he just hadn’t expected to be so hurt by the reality of it. 

“Are you still there?” Merlin’s voice tickled his ear, and Harry suddenly had the very strong urge to be in his arms. 

“Yes, I’m here.” He collapsed into the chair behind his desk, running a hand through his hair before taking the care to put it back into its neat styling. 

“I’m patching your tablet through to the navigation on the cab. Do with it what you will.” Harry glanced down at his tablet as the screen came to life, the ghost of Merlin commandeering it from miles away. Part of him was thankful that Merlin was so smart, the other part scared of what he’d do with the power that Merlin was now presenting to him. “Like I said, don’t do anything rash,” Merlin continued, as if he could read Harry’s mind. It wouldn’t surprise Harry if Merlin  _ could _ read his mind.

“I won’t,” Harry replied softly, picking the tablet up to look at where Eggsy had taken the cab. Based on the coordinates, he was at The Black Prince. With a few sweeping motions of his hands, Harry overrode the cab’s system and punched in the coordinates of his address. He could hear Eggsy swearing up one side and down the other on the other end of the comms. 

“Merlin?” he said. 

“Yes, Harry?”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Just...don’t beat yourself up over it. Say what you need to say and shove on.”

* * *

 

Harry did say what he needed to say. Eggsy had burst through his front door, pink cheeked and angry, only to come face-to-face with the monotone lethality that sprung from Harry’s mouth. Harry wasn’t used to the level of petulance that Eggsy was showing him, his face pinched in anger as he hurled insults at Harry. It was only a matter of seconds before the cool, disappointed tone of his voice broke as he flung the loo door open to reveal Mr. Pickle sitting above his toilet. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear Merlin’s voice saying, _Don’t do anything rash._ That was far easier said than done. It took all of his willpower to keep himself together as he laid out in front of Eggsy exactly why he was so upset.   

“It was a  _ blank _ , Eggsy. It was a fucking  _ blank.”  _ He continued to spill the secrets of Kingsman, about Amelia and how their limits were being tested far more than their abilities. Eggsy just stared at him, his eyes blazing with anger and frustration. “Kingsman only condones the risking of a life to save another.”

“How my dad saved your life, even though your fuck up cost his? What, you’ve got him stuffed here and all?” Eggsy’s words hurt far more than Harry could have prepared himself for. He thought about the conversation he and Merlin had had the night before. Sometimes Merlin knew him better than himself. Even though Harry was the one to verbalize his fears of ruining Eggsy’s life, it had been Merlin’s rationalizing that had put things into perspective. 

“Can’t you see that everything I’ve done has been about trying to repay him?” Vulnerability was something that Harry let very few people see, and he ventured to think that now was as good a time as any to make Eggsy realize that this entire situation was far bigger than just a candidacy. Lee Unwin’s death had been something he carried around with him for years, a heavy weight around his neck that Merlin had to soothe out of him on more than one occasion. How many nights had Harry laid on Merlin’s chest, his face a stony mask as Merlin carded his fingers through Harry’s hair in an effort to get him to calm down and sleep?

* * *

The night it had happened was seared into Harry’s brain. They had been extracted from the mission, Lee’s body slung over Harry’s shoulder as he was pulled into the helicopter by the other two agents. The weight was immeasurable, crushing his heart and his spirit. Death was inevitable in their profession, but Harry had harbored immense hope in Lee and his potential.

Once they had gotten back to the hotel--a tan colored, sand covered box--Harry went off to his room without a word to the others. They had one more night in the Middle East before heading back to London the next morning. Lee’s body was already on its way there. He had slammed into the room, beelining straight for the flask that he kept in his overnight bag. By the time he had the lid of the flask unscrewed, Merlin was in the room, right behind him.

“Alastair, I’m not in the mood,” Harry had snapped, knocking back the flask with a fluid gulp.  

The two of them had rarely gone on missions together. Harry was used to Merlin’s voice in his ear, guiding him through missions and offering a reassuring word when he needed it. It was different, having him sitting on the foot of his hotel bed, all tactical gear shed except for the black moisture-wicking outfit underneath. He had shaved his head before they left London, something he occasionally did when the heat became too much. He now rubbed a large hand over the stubble that had started to sprout up at the back of his head.  

“Harry,” he said softly. “It’s not your fault.”

“Don’t,” he said sharply. “Don’t tell me what’s my fault and what isn’t. You don’t have the right.” 

Merlin had looked at him, then, all luminescent, moss-colored eyes and thin-lipped disapproval. “You’re right,” he muttered. “I don’t have the right. But I think I have the right to be concerned about you. At least grant me that.” 

Harry hated him in that second. Spies didn’t become emotionally involved for exactly this reason. He just wanted to wallow in his self-pity, and here Merlin was, sitting across from him practically radiating concern. It was enough to make him love Merlin even more, and that welling up of emotion made him feel resentful. 

“Fine,” he said in a clipped tone. “I’ll grant you that right, but I beg of you to just leave me be. For now, at the very least.”

With a huff, Merlin had stood up. He crossed the room in three swift strides, the length of his legs something Harry never stopped marveling about. With a heavy hand, Merlin dropped a reassuring pat on Harry’s shoulder before leaving his hand to linger there. As if by reflex, Harry raised his own hand to cup the back of Merlin’s neck, rubbing a thumb affectionately over the stubble that grew there.  

“I will leave you be, Harry, but I’m across the hall if you need me.” At that, he dipped ever-so-slightly to ghost over Harry’s lips before pulling away to search his face. He gave Harry a sad smile before giving his shoulder a squeeze, turning on his heel, and leaving the room. 

Whether or not Harry took Merlin up on his offer was something only the two of them knew.

* * *

 

Before Eggsy had a chance to respond, Harry heard a beeping coming from the glasses in his hand. It was as if Merlin was once again reading his mind, picking up on his unease and swooping in to make it better. He listened to the quartermaster’s voice wash over him, registering what Merlin was saying at half the speed he normally did. It wasn’t until he heard Valentine’s voice that he snapped back to reality, the situation at hand forgotten about. 

“South Glade Mission Church,” he muttered to himself as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. “Merlin, get the plane ready.” Merlin gave him a small hum of acknowledgement but didn’t disengage the comms. Harry didn’t care--he would hear about it from Harry anyway, so why not let him listen now? He turned back around to face Eggsy before saying, “You just stay right there. I’ll sort this mess out when I get back.” 

As he stormed out of the bathroom and headed towards the bedroom, he could hear Merlin’s breathing. 

“Alright?” he murmured into Harry’s ear.  

Harry took a steadying breath before responding. “I’m fine. You heard me yourself--I’ll fix the mess when I get back.”

“It’s not going to keep you unfocused, is it?” Harry could hear the edge of worry in Merlin’s voice. He knew that Merlin thought he hid it well, but Harry knew the slight change in tonality as if it were his own heartbeat. It was there for every mission, just the slightest difference in pitch when Merlin was feeling insecure about Harry’s safety. 

“No, darling, it won’t. Stop worrying.” He immediately regretted the sharpness in his tone. “I’ll be back before you know it, looking into those incredible green eyes of yours while your cock is in my throat.” He was relieved to hear Merlin laugh at this. 

“That a promise or a threat?”

“You know I only make threats to enemies. You’ve been quite well behaved lately, so I don’t think I’d consider you an enemy.”

 “Cheeky bastard. Hurry up and get to headquarters. I have the plane waiting for you, along with a kiss if you’re lucky.” Some of the tension in Harry’s shoulders bled out at Merlin’s words. The thought of catching Merlin’s mouth with his own before boarding the plane was enough motivation to stop lollygagging. 

Quickly, Harry grabbed the garment bag that was hanging up in their closet that contained his suit and oxfords. He descended the stairs. Eggsy was still standing in the entryway to the loo, his hands shoved guiltily into his pockets and his face ashen and sad. He started to apologize again, but Harry simply raised a hand to stop him before shaking his head sadly and stepping out the front door. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin saved the world, but what's a world worth living in if Harry Hart isn't in it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read the first two chapters, I implore you to do so now. There's a reference in this one that's from the first chapter :)

Pain was something Merlin was used to. It was part of the job, an ever present cloud looming over every agent. Physical pain, emotional pain, it didn’t matter which. It was there, always lurking when things went tits up. 

He wasn’t used to _this_ pain, though. The pain of having your heart torn from your chest, leaving a gaping hole that couldn’t be fixed with stitches or tape. The pain of no one knowing that you were even suffering, left to wallow in your own agony while everyone else bustled about. The pain of realizing that the life you’d been building for the last twenty years with someone else was now completely ripped away from you, and you’d have to start rebuilding it from the ground up.  

Merlin should feel elated, but he doesn’t.

 They had saved the world, he, Eggsy and Roxy. Alive on adrenaline and fury, the three of them had taken on Valentine and his goons, essentially mowing them down the same way Harry had taken down that church. They had done it with far less grace and elegance, though.

  _Harry._

The name knocked the wind out of him as if he’d been hit with a battering ram.

Very few people knew about him and Harry, their relationship...everyone always assumed they were just two grumpy old bachelors who made a pact to each other to never marry if it hadn’t happened by their thirtieth birthdays. No one would ever suspect that they were partners. They probably wouldn’t even suspect lovers.

Yet here he sat, in the living room of the house that he had shared with Harry Hart for the better part of twenty years, alone. Now that the crescendo of anger and disgust that Merlin had embodied in Valentine’s bunker had mollified, all he could focus on was the last minutes he had seen of Harry’s life. Harry would hate that those were Merlin’s last memories of him. He had always told Merlin that he hoped he went out in a ball of flames, like some kind of glorious phoenix. Merlin always laughed at that. Leave it to Harry Hart to envision his own death as some kind of cinematic masterpiece.

Merlin rolled the whiskey in his rocks glass around, watching the amber liquid swirl. _Same color as Harry’s eyes._ He lifted his glasses as he pinched his eyes shut, digging a thumb and pointer finger into them to try and stave off the headache threatening to come back. He had left headquarters almost four hours ago, clapping a hand on Amelia’s shoulder warmly. Everything was a front. The warmth, the stoicism, the noncommittal excuse that he was going home to just sleep a few hours before heading back to headquarters. 

Merlin knew he wouldn’t be sleeping. 

The rocks glass dangled from the fingers of his left hand. His gaze dropped back down to it, a sigh leaving his lips. The skin on his ring finger was still red and raised. He had gotten rid of the bandage when he got home, dropping it into the bin underneath the kitchen sink before pouring himself the whiskey. The whole situation had been on a whim, stopping into the tattoo parlor on his way home from headquarters.  

Harry would’ve hated it. 

At the base of Merlin’s left ring finger, there was now a small black tattoo of a stag. The antlers were strong black lines, spiking up towards his first knuckle, and they were attached to a heart that represented the stag’s head. The heart was rounded out so that at a quick glance, you wouldn’t even realize that it _was_ a heart, but Merlin wanted it that way. He wasn’t a sappy guy...he still couldn’t even believe that he’d gotten the tattoo at all. It was probably the most dramatic declaration he’d ever made of his love for Harry, and for that reason alone did it seem an appropriate memorial.

Merlin remembered the first time he’d made the pun about Harry’s last name. They had just finished fucking, lying on the bed next to each other with their pinkies linked and breathing heavily. Harry looked gorgeous, all pink mouthed and heavy lidded with the laziest grin Merlin had ever seen. Merlin could feel his heart threatening to beat out of his chest, the adrenaline still throbbing in his veins as he came down from the high of his orgasm. 

Harry had turned his head on the pillow to look at Merlin, and it was in that second that Merlin knew he was so far gone on this man that he would never come back. Harry’s hair was a mess, all spiky curls haloing his head. Merlin had reached out a hand to run his fingers through the mess. “Are these your hart antlers?” he had asked. It had fallen out of his mouth in a sex-drunk stupor, and he immediately regretted it. _How fucking stupid are you?_ he thought to himself as Harry’s eyes glinted mischievously from across the mattress.

“That is by _far_ the worst pun I’ve ever heard,” Harry had drawled, a grin blooming across his face.  

Merlin had blushed at that, embarrassed by the asinine joke he had tried to make. _It wasn’t even_ **_funny._ ** _What were you thinking?_ He cleared his throat.

“Unfortunately, I’d have to agree.”

“Thank God we fucked before that, otherwise I think you’d be out of luck.”

It was then that Merlin had taken his pillow and promptly walloped Harry in the face with it.

The shitty joke became an ongoing point of amusement for Harry. He’d bring it up whenever Merlin was particularly heated about something stupid Harry had done. He would seamlessly drop it into the conversation, leaving Merlin sputtering and even angrier than before. Somewhere inside Merlin’s heart, though, it made him love Harry more. Harry had a knack for making Merlin love and hate him simultaneously.

Merlin looked back down at the tattoo. Yes, Harry would’ve hated it, but he would’ve loved it, too. Turns out it was more perfect than Merlin had initially thought. He smiled at that--the first real smile he’d allowed himself in days--before knocking back the rest of his whiskey. He hissed as it burned down his throat, settling in his stomach like a warm, glowing ember. With a huff, he heaved himself forward out of the chair.

Setting the rocks glass down on the coffee table, Merlin made his way over to the corner of the room where Harry’s record player sat. A record of Stravinsky’s Firebird Suite was still sitting on the deck, the arm of the record player set off to the side. Merlin rolled his eyes affectionately. For harboring such an undying love for records, Harry was absolute shit at taking care of them. Nimbly, Merlin removed the record from the record player and slid it back into its sleeve. He returned the Stravinsky piece back to its place among Harry’s other records before running a hand over the spines of his collection.  

Merlin’s hand settled on a particularly worn sleeve. He tapped his finger against it before pulling it off of the shelf and holding it in his hands. _Stupid fucking record,_ he thought to himself as he stared down at the silhouette of Carole King sitting in a window seat, the looming face of a cat in the forefront of the photo. Merlin turned the record over in his hands, looking at it as if he were contemplating purchasing it in a shop. Before he could change his mind, he pulled the record from its sleeve and laid it on the deck.

As Merlin placed the arm of the record player onto the record, it crackled to life over the surround sound speakers. He leaned a hand against the shelf that the player stood on, steadying himself against the onslaught of emotions that washed over him as he listened to the piano echo into the room.  

_Stayed in bed all morning just to pass the time,_  
_There’s something wrong here, there can be no denying._  
_One of us is changing, or maybe we’ve just stopped trying…_

Merlin hadn’t cried in years. He couldn’t even remember the last time that he properly mourned something. But as Carole King’s voice warbled over the speakers, Merlin was surprised by the fat, hot drops that fell from his eyes and onto the shined toe of his shoes. There was something about her voice and the piano that dredged up every memory Merlin had of Harry, causing him to lose all control of his emotions as he sobbed in the middle of their living room.

_And it’s too late, baby, now it’s too late,_  
_Though we really did try to make it._  
_Something inside has died and I can’t hide,_  
_And I just can’t fake it, oh no, no…_

As always, Harry had been right. Sadly, he’d never know it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin's tattoo is loosely based off of [this](http://www.venicetattooartdesigns.com/2808-2/). Also, if you aren't familiar with the Carole King song mentioned, you can give it a listen [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BDm1xD_Kwyc).


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry lives, Merlin cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should note that this idea came before the Golden Circle trailer :)

Nervousness was an odd emotion for Harry Hart to be experiencing. He rarely got nervous, even on the most dangerous of missions, but there was something about seeing his partner of twenty years for the first time in, well, years, that made his palms sweat.

Under normal circumstances, Harry could read Merlin like a book. But this? This was different. His last coherent memory was staring down the barrel of a gun before he awoke in a Kentucky hospital in nothing but a thin gown and an overgrown beard. The left side of his face had felt tight, and when he had raised a hand to see why, all he felt was gauze and tape. It was then that he realized that he was only looking out of one eye, his sight going completely black when he closed it. At the realization of this, Harry had promptly vomited into a nearby basin, so loudly that it summoned a nurse to his bedside.  

The next months were torture. He had snippets and pieces of memories that he slowly began to put together with the help of the staff at the hospital. Their southern twang grated on his ears, making him moody and short. They had informed him that he had been in a coma for the better part of six months. He had no personal identification on his person when he was found outside of the church, and he’d been sitting in that hospital bed since they had found him. His left eye couldn’t be saved, but they were able to reconstruct his skull and remove the bullet from his brain.

Everyone told him it was a miracle that he was alive.

He didn’t feel like a miracle, though. He felt like a downtrodden old man.  

Memories were few and far between, but they _were_ there. The first few days, he would catch glimpses of a pair of glasses in his memory, remember a pair of luminous green eyes when he caught a whiff of his doctor’s cedar scented cologne. He couldn’t figure out who it was that these pieces belonged to, but they made his heart hurt whenever they flashed in his memory.

Eventually, the name came to him. _Alastair._ Once it entered his brain, it was all he could think about. The cashmere jumpers, the slightly crooked aquiline nose, the cedarwood cologne, the set line of his lips whenever he was annoyed. His face was like a constant fever dream...Harry could remember nibbling on his ears, secretly loving how they stuck out just a bit. He asked for him by name almost everyday, but no one knew who he was talking about.

It wasn’t until a year after Harry’s full recovery that the hospital finally let him go. One of the nurses who had taken a shining to him had gone out to the local mall to buy him some slacks and a buttondown to wear out of the hospital--his Kingsman suit had been discarded months ago, leaving him with no other earthly possession besides the shards of the glasses in his hands. He knew the glasses were important, a way to get back to Alastair, and as he walked out, he asked the front desk if they could call him a cab to bring him to the airport. 

In the cab, he had run his finger over the inner side of the arm of the glasses. In slightly depressed font was the name “Kingsman”. The sensation of the letters gliding under his fingertip was like a balm on his hammering heart. Kingsman sounded familiar. It sounded like home.

 Home was where Alastair was.

It took him eight and a half hours on a plane to get from Kentucky to London. The entire time he braced himself for what he’d do once he landed. He knew London was home--the nurses were always commenting on his accent, fawning all over him like some kind of zoo animal--but he wasn’t sure he’d remember where to go. He knew the name of his destination, but not how to get there. Luckily, the cab driver that picked him up off the curb outside of Heathrow knew exactly where Kingsman was, and he dumped Harry onto the pavement outside of a very posh looking tailor shop.

Hesitantly, Harry had pushed through the front door to find an older looking gentleman behind the desk. His eyes had grown twice their size when he saw Harry, and his mouth hung open like a codfish. 

_“Galahad?”_ he had asked incredulously.

Harry thought that sounded familiar, so he went along with it. He glanced at the name tag on the man’s vest before saying, “Yes, Andrew. Can you please direct me to where Alastair is?” 

The man’s brow had furrowed at this request. “Sir? We don’t have anyone named Alastair on the docket. Who exactly are you looking for?”

 Harry waited a beat as he shoved his hands into the pocket of his trousers. This wasn’t going as planned. The only name he could remember was Alastair, but it seemed that this was a mistake. He decided to play it off, as if the eyepatch on his face and the slight limp he now harbored weren’t suspect enough.

 “Bald? Glasses? Mean looking?”

Andrew sputtered for a second before saying, “Sir, do you mean Merlin?” 

_Merlin. Yes, that sounded right._

 “I apologize, Andrew. Not one-hundred-percent myself. Yes, Merlin is who I meant. Can you please direct me to where he is? And please don’t tell him I’m here.”

Andrew gave him a list of directions, guiding him to where he could find Merlin at headquarters. Before Harry set off, Andrew had grabbed his wrist and looked at him with tears shining in his eyes.

“You truly are a sight for sore eyes, sir. I won’t tell Merlin you’re here, but just know that he’ll be madder than a wet hen when you show up unannounced.”

Harry had smiled at that, a chunk of a memory flashing across his mind. It involved Alastair-- _Merlin_ \--sputtering and ranting, only to be cut off by a kiss initiated by Harry.

Harry thanked Andrew and made his way to the bullet train. The nervousness he now felt wasn’t one of unsureness, but rather of excitement. Memories were starting to slip into properly designated slots, and he was slowly forming a picture of who he actually was and why he was left to die under that Kentucky sun. Galahad wasn’t some slip of the tongue...that was part of who Harry was, he could feel it in his bones. And this bullet train...this was high-profile engineering, something only an organization of the highest regard would have. A tailor shop, no matter how fancy or high falutin it was, would have no need for a bullet train, especially one this advanced.

 Harry was beginning to think that Kingsman was a bit more than just a tailor shop.

Once the bullet train stopped, Harry stepped out of the air-compression doors and stretched himself out before looking around. He was on a platform that overlooked a room full of vehicles--planes, cars, motorcycles. It seemed as if there wasn’t a single thing in the room that couldn’t be of use, if the situation called for it. His eyes settled on a 1987 Porsche 959 and he smiled. Something was familiar about that particular car...something involving him behind the wheel and Alastair’s raging brogue crackling in his ear. His smile grew wider. 

Instead of veering to the left, Harry turned to the right and pushed his way through the door that stood there. Without even hesitating, Harry began walking down the hallway with purpose. He knew where he was going, and the thrill of that knowledge sent his heart beating in his ribcage like a trapped bird. A turn to the right brought him to where he needed to go. The large, steel door in front of him bore no indication of what lay behind it. There was a scanner next to the handle, where Harry calmly placed the flat of his hand.  

There were three beeps and Harry heard the lock disengage. He smiled to himself before pushing the door open.

On the other side sat a room that was whirring as if it were alive. A wall of circuits and switchboards sat to his left, and to his right was a long, tidily kept desk. Two green desk lamps sat on either side of a large control panel, where several screens were up. An empty chair sat at the desk, and Harry felt his heart drop just a bit. Nobody was in the room.  

Harry crossed the floor to where the chair was, and he leaned a hand on it. On the screen were several feeds with different names matched with IATA 3-letter codes. On one screen said the name “LANCELOT” with the code LCR next to it. The screen was relatively calm, portraying an outdoor cafe where palm leaves splayed onto the concrete and patrons drank coffee. Whoever Lancelot was, they seemed to be absorbed in watching a particular patron across the cafe--a burly man with a scar crossing his eye and a monkey on his shoulder. Harry laughed at that...it was like looking at a terrible movie character in a spy film.

He scanned the next screen, where the name “GAWAIN” hung in the corner, followed by the code LHE. This screen was a little more lively, as its occupant seemed to be running at full speed through a mosque, occasionally looking over their shoulder to shoot at a group of men that were scrambling in pursuit. Next to Gawain’s screen was one that said “LAMORAK” with the code TYO next to it. Harry was now watching a high-speed chase, the picture of a motorcycle console flashing in front of him as lights whizzed by. The screen that said “BEDIVERE” had the code HAD next to it, and the only thing that was showing was the outline of someone’s slumbering form curled up under a blanket in a hotel room.

The only other screen was one that was black. The name “GALAHAD” was in the top left corner with the code LEX next to it. Harry frowned as he looked at the screen. That was _his_ screen. Why in the world would that still be up? It had been almost a year and a half since his glasses had been shattered. He had been assumed dead, and rightfully so.

Suddenly, he heard a crash behind him. He turned around to find Merlin standing just a few feet from him, a shattered mug of tea pooling around his feet as he looked at Harry with a stony, unreadable expression. His clipboard hung limp at his side as his eyes glinted across the room at Harry.

“Alastair,” Harry breathed, letting the hand that had rested on the desk drop to his side. “Or should I call you Merlin?" 

“You fucking bastard,” Merlin gritted out before taking the four strides to get to Harry. Harry felt himself tense up, expecting to be punched in the face or kneed in the groin, but that didn’t happen at all. Instead, he felt Merlin’s hands come up and around him, pulling him into the softness of his jumper with such an incredible force that Harry felt the breath leave his lungs. The cedarwood cologne that had plagued him for months in his hospital bed now filled his senses, sending a heady rush through his body as he choked back a sob. With some difficulty, he was able to free his right arm from Merlin’s grip to bring it up and cradle the back of Merlin’s head.

Harry could now feel Merlin shaking against him as his tears soaked through the cheap fabric of his buttondown. Harry rubbed his thumb at the base of Merlin’s neck, huffing out soothing _shh’s_ to try and calm them both down. He could feel Merlin clutching at the back of his shirt. He reveled in the warm weight of Merlin in his arms.

It felt like home.  

They stood like that for what felt like an eternity, Harry trying to quell the sobs threatening to leave his chest as he let Merlin cry against him. Harry didn’t have many memories, but he knew in his gut that Merlin never cried. Allowing him that freedom was more important than allowing himself the same, and he did so willingly.

When Merlin finally pulled back, he angrily swiped at the tears staining his cheeks with the palms of his hands. He resettled his glasses, staring at Harry with those viridescent eyes that Harry had been desperate to get back to. Harry gave him a small smile, bringing up his hand to wipe away a tear that Merlin had missed with the pad of his thumb. Merlin’s hand caught his before Harry could take it away, and Merlin closed his eyes as he pressed Harry’s hand into his cheek, breathing heavily as he did so. Tentatively, he turned his face towards Harry’s palm and pressed his lips against the lines that were etched there.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he breathed into Harry’s palm, refusing to look at Harry. “And what the fuck happened to your face?”

“Alastair, if you’d be so kind to take a seat, I’ll tell you all about it.”

 

* * *

 

Later that evening, Harry found himself in the living room that he had shared with Merlin for the better part of twenty years. After telling him all about Kentucky and the arduous journey to get back to the slightest semblance of what he previously was, Harry had wiped his hands on his slacks before asking Merlin if he could kiss him. Merlin had laughed at him before nodding, a smug smile on his lips as tears once again filled his eyes. The spark of their lips touching had ignited a fire in Harry, warming every inch of his body as tears fell fat and hot from his eyes. 

Merlin has whisked him away after that, sneaking him out of headquarters and into one of the many cabs that lined the room where Harry had seen the Porsche. They drove the whole way home in relative silence, their fingers laced together over the gear shift. Harry stared at Merlin the entire time and caught every single glance that Merlin chanced his way. Every time their eyes met, Merlin blushed, and Harry would raise their hands to his mouth and gently press a kiss to the knuckles of Merlin’s hand.

Once inside the house, Merlin took Harry’s hand and led him up the stairs to their bedroom. Harry watched him as he scrabbled around in the closet, a warmth blooming in his chest with each curse Merlin muttered. He finally emerged with a pair of well worn pajamas. They were pink and blue striped with the letters “HH” embroidered on the breast. Merlin smiled as he held them out towards Harry. Harry smiled back as he took them in his hands.   
  
“Soap and flannel are in the shower. Left your toothbrush where it’s always been,” Merlin said, nodding towards the master bath. “I’ll meet you downstairs when you’re finished.”

The shower had been marvelous, bleeding out any tension that lay dormant in Harry’s muscles. Everything was familiar--the scent of the soap, the lather of his shampoo--and when he emerged, he felt like a new man. He brushed his teeth and ran a hand through his wet hair, desperately trying to get it to lay some way other than erratic. He huffed as he gave up. It wasn’t worth it...he was sure Merlin would love him no matter what, curls or no curls. He pulled on the pajamas, having to steady himself on the sink counter from the rush of emotions that the simple act of wearing them caused.

Once he was composed and calm, he shuffled his way downstairs to the living room. Merlin was waiting for him, wearing a pair of plaid pajama pants and an old black t-shirt that had a hole near the collar. Harry remembered that t-shirt, and that made him smile. Merlin was sitting with his legs splayed open, his forearms leaning against his thighs as he hung his head down, looking at his feet. Two rocks glasses sat on the coffee table in front of him, partially filled with an amber liquid that Harry could only discern as whiskey.

When Merlin heard him come into the room, he lifted his head and gave him a smile. “Come here,” he said, holding out his hand to Harry. Harry made his way to the couch, sitting next to Merlin and leaning into his side. Merlin put his arm around Harry’s shoulders and pressed a kiss to his temple. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against where he had kissed Harry.

“And I can’t believe you got a tattoo in my memory,” Harry replied. He heard Merlin give a resigned sigh in his ear. Harry took Merlin’s left hand, not even trying to suppress the grin that crossed his features. He ran his thumb over the black lines on Merlin’s knuckle, admiring the sentiment that Merlin showed, just for him. He brought the knuckle to his lips and pressed a warm kiss there, willing Merlin to look him in the eye. Eventually, Merlin raised his eyes to look at Harry, the slightest glimmer of a smile playing on his lips. Harry grinned against the tattoo, his dimples on full display.  

Merlin dropped his hand as he stood up with a huff. He crossed the room to where a record player sat, and he began to fiddle with the arm of it before dropping it down on the record that lay there. Harry took a gulp of the whiskey before him before leaning back on the couch, propping his feet up on the table in front of him as he watched Merlin search for the song he was looking for. He couldn’t stop smiling now that he was where he was supposed to be.

Finally, Merlin turned back around as the crackle of the record transitioned into music. He sat down next to Harry before grabbing his hand and saying, “Lay down.” He guided Harry’s head to lay in his lap, and Harry went willingly. The song on the record player was familiar, and it made tears spring into Harry’s eyes. Merlin dug his fingertips into Harry’s hair, giving Harry’s scalp tantalizing little scratches.  

_Sometimes I wonder if I'm ever gonna make it home again._   
_It's so far and out of sight._   
_I really need someone to talk to,_   
_And nobody else knows how to comfort me tonight._

Harry was now openly crying, no matter how hard he tried to fight it. The tears fell from his eyes and onto Merlin’s lap, and Harry rubbed his face into the fabric of Merlin’s tartan pajama pants as he tried to will himself to stop. He let out an ungentlemanly snuffle as Merlin rubbed his thumb on the soft spot behind Harry’s ear.

“I missed you,” he whispered as he gave Merlin’s knee a squeeze.

He could almost feel Merlin’s smile from somewhere above his head. Merlin gave the curls on the back of his head a little tug before saying, “I know the feeling.”

The two of them sat there, listening to Carole King sing their story as they both quietly cried. It wasn’t something they’d ever let anyone else see, but this was the safest the both of them felt in the longest time. Harry eventually drifted off as he lay in Merlin’s lap, his hand cupping the front of Merlin’s knee while Merlin continued to swipe his thumb behind Harry’s ear.

_Snow is cold, rain is wet,_   
_Chills my soul right to the marrow._   
_I won't be happy till I see you alone again,_   
_Till I'm home again and feeling right._

Harry didn’t wake up when Merlin scooped him up in his arms and brought him upstairs to their bed.

The next thing Harry knew was the warm weight of Merlin curled up against him as morning light filtered in through the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how this turned into a Carole King fangirl fic, but if you're curious about the song, you can listen to it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CC_1a_EfC00). Also, here's the [IATA reference](http://www.iata.org/publications/Pages/code-search.aspx) if you're curious about where each agent was :)


End file.
